


Thank you, I Hate You

by Requiemesque



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Beer, Dancing, Dare, Drabble, F/F, Ping-Pong, Short One Shot, Walk Into A Bar, light fluff, team bae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24092764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Requiemesque/pseuds/Requiemesque
Summary: “...So tell me, Garfield. What brings you here?” Sasha’s breath was hot against her ear, teasing, fluid like the movement of her hips.Becky licked her lips, this was a different person from the lab partner that she had met.“A dare,” Becky rasped. “Some jackass told me to make out with you and I’m here to shoot my shot. Listen, I’m not paying for three buckets of beer. And you? Why are you here on a Thursday night?”
Relationships: Sasha Banks/Becky Lynch | Rebecca Knox
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Thank you, I Hate You

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself, you know what, I'm going to write something light.

In the Divine Comedy, a seven-thousand-year-old dead man had once said: “All hope abandon, ye who enter.” 

So Becky, in all of her street-earned intellect, was not exactly sure why she ignored the words of the wise and proceeded to drink with the lousy jocks from the university. Especially when her pockets were completely empty. But the risk-and-reward euphoria that had accompanied the invitation for beer pong, lay in front of her like a meal-trap in the middle of the forest. 

It’s not that Becky didn’t see red flags, it’s just that she was a proud glutton that prowls on opportunities because she hadn’t been punished _enough_ for it. Adults would call it juvenile, but it was more or less because adults, the full-grown ones, do not know the art of the perfect trajectory of a ping-pong ball. Combine this with the collective geniuses of the three idiots behind the name of the Sierra Hotel India fraternity as her opponents? 

It was happy hour in the land of beer and kidney. 

She was Faust in front of the modern-day devils. Except the geniuses were actually visited by the guardian angel that had previously protected them from everything that involved common sense. She came bearing the gift of bad blood and all of a sudden, the half-wit quarter-blonde was replaced by another long-haired douchebag with the actual skill.

Balls flew everywhere, and in a swift and agonizing thirty-minute run: Becky lost. 

Which brought her to where she currently was, pretending like she had _accidentally_ left her wallet to salvage whatever is left of her pride - which, definitely wasn’t in her empty pockets either.

“Okay. Lynch. You should be glad that my uncle owns this bar. If you don’t have the money, you’ll have to pay for it some other way.”

“Look man, if you’re going to ask for what’s the shampoo to combat hair grease, you’re going to have to ask Sasha Banks.” And she had the balls to snicker. There are a few occasions where Becky wanted to punch herself. 

The bigger guy let out an unamused chuckle. “Very funny.”

“Why, thank you!” Becky grinned smugly. _Might as well_.

“You see I was going to give you something tame because I’m nice, but now you make me go wanna’ embarrass you.” The big guy threatened as if their version of embarrassment went beyond shameful TikToks and stupid Vines. “Your ticket out of this bar is to make out with Sasha Banks.”

_Well, crap._

* * *

It wasn’t that Sasha Banks was a scary entity, she was, as a matter of fact, just an entity - who happened to sit on top of the pyramid of uptight. If anyone ever looked for the epitome and posterchild of the word ‘Girl’, that would be Sasha Banks. She built the stairs of her empire from the backbone of every individual that attached her to an enigma, and its walls from the latest makeup and killer instinct. 

It had fascinated Becky, really, for a good while. From a distance, it was entertaining to see the souls of dictators and emperors find themselves reincarnated in the swaying hips of a twenty-year-old girl. Their strategic brilliance trapped in petty schemes designed to keep the buttons of a boyfriend’s jeans closed. 

But they had to be partners once, it might have been for lab - she didn’t remember. It was irrelevant, but that was when she learned that icons are only ever amusing from afar.

And Sasha Banks did look damn good from afar. 

There was a sea of students in the middle of the bar but it was easy to recognize the blue hair that whipped at practically everywhere, turning at every direction, luring every stranger - like a siren with the curse of song. And it would only make sense that the better half of the people who knew Sasha Banks thought that. But the other half?

When Becky got closer to the dance floor, all she saw were Sasha Banks and the eyes that gawked at her. She danced like everybody was watching - she gave it everything’s she’s got, because the lady was drunk out of her mind. 

She might have elbowed a couple of students to get to the center of attention, but she knew she was there when an annoying voice shouted at her. 

“Oh hey Garfield,” Sasha winked at her. “Came to see the center of attraction?” Her tongue spewed with self-aware narcissism that made Becky second guess the state of the woman’s sobriety. 

Becky nodded in acknowledgment, “Barney.”

Sasha raised a finger, signaling for Becky to come closer. She kept her tempo, and damn kept it well. It just felt utterly natural to slide closer, as if Becky has found a rhythm that she had lost when exclusively drinking with self-proclaimed high-tolerance, whiny motherfuckers. Jocks cannot hold their alcohol.

She found herself standing stiff just a couple of inches away from Sasha. Becky had to admit that Sasha’s curves casually sliding against different parts of her as the girl circled around Becky made her feel intensely _more human._ All of a sudden the room was a couple of degrees hotter and Becky wanted nothing more than to take her leather jacket off.

The dance floor was suffocating, it was hard to breathe amid the bodies that grew denser as the early night eclipsed into midnight. She could dangerously empathize with those that had uttered Sasha’s name as if it were a term for worship - or maybe, it was beer goggles. Sasha’s arms found Becky’s waist and slid all the way up, finding their haven at Becky’s nape. 

“...So tell me, Garfield. What brings you here?” Sasha’s breath was hot against her ear, teasing, fluid like the movement of her hips.

Becky licked her lips, this was a different person from the lab partner that she had met. 

“A dare,” Becky rasped. “Some jackass told me to make out with you and I’m here to shoot my shot. Listen, I’m not paying for three buckets of beer. And you? Why are you here on a Thursday night?” 

Becky wasn’t drunk enough, she had noticed something flicker in Sasha’s eyes. When the lights hit the two of them, her eyes were all of a sudden glassier, vulnerable - more transparent.

Sasha didn’t reply to her, only burying her head on Becky’s shoulders as her hands roamed elsewhere. When Sasha looked up, watery eyes neared closer. She was going for a kiss.

Becky wasn’t drunk enough, but Sasha was. Heartbreaks are intoxicating as they were manipulative. She had seen bad decisions happen precisely because of that combination. 

“No.” Becky took Sasha’s hands from the small of her back and held Sasha’s arms in place. “Look. Where do you live?”

“You should at least take me out to dinner first, how rude!”

“ _Sasha Banks_. Where do you live?

* * *

Maybe Sasha thought they would have done something. As when the doors to her dormitory blasted open, she drunkenly pinned Becky to the door. It was bad enough that Sasha had been such a lightweight and a deadweight at Becky’s motorcycle, she was making it _extremely_ hard for Becky to be helpful. 

“You know Becky...,” She whispered, the lights were fully on and it was nothing short of awkward. “I really don’t like you but you’ll do.”

“Oh my god.” Becky was trying not to laugh, she shook her head. Of all the strange nights she’s ever had, this had to take the cake. The facade of Sasha Banks clumsily unfolding before her very eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You are _so_ not gonna’ wanna remember this in the morning.”

Sasha didn’t look heavy, but she sure as hell was when the lady’s knees gave up and Becky had to carry her to the bed - she was fast asleep.

Sasha woke up to a Facebook message sent at around eight in the morning. The message request contained a picture, and she had to make sure that they weren’t materials that weren’t supposed to spread around.

_‘Next time bring a friend with you who’s real enough to take you home, ok? I don’t really like dragging corpses to their dorm rooms. You were heavy as fuck.’_

In the message, was a picture of Sasha sleeping. Beside her was a Becky sporting an annoying grin, holding a thumbs up on one hand - and two paracetamols on the other. She found the pills by her desk. 

It was too early in the morning and Sasha felt the advent of a bad headache, but she replied.

_‘??? Bitch! You’re the reason why slurs were invented.”_

She didn’t know why a small smile found its way to her face.

_‘But thank you.’_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading HAHA if you feel a little baited, I'd understand why.


End file.
